Kiss It Better
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: "What do you want me to do, Arthur? Kiss it better?"


_Kiss It Better_

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

As the king's personal servant, Merlin often had to take care of _plenty_ of menial tasks that no one else could do or was trusted enough to do; as much as he hated to do most of them, sometimes, he supposed, there was _some_ pride to be had in that, some honor in being the only one Arthur trusted enough to do certain things for him. Though when those certain things happened to be _ridiculous_ things that other people could have just as easily done—like sharpening his sword, or doing his wash; there was no good reason at all why Merlin had to be the one to take care of tasks like those other than the fact that Arthur said so and he was the king and _Mer_ lin was his servant and had to do what he said—well, there was _more_ irritation and reluctance in doing those sorts of chores, no matter _what_ Arthur had to say on the subject.

Something Merlin could be more understanding of having to take care of, was Arthur's food. From poison to potions, there was no telling who would try to slip _what_ into the king's food if given the opportunity; if anyone else had been left in charge of bringing the food from the kitchen to the king, or preparing it, when out on quests and missions and such, _anything_ could have happened. So Merlin could never complain _too_ much about that, if it meant keeping Arthur alive.

He still had to complain about it every now and then, of course, but more out of habit than any _real_ reluctance to see to his damned food.

As he was one night when he had too many chores to do and Arthur had too much on his mind to be any real sort of company at all, nose and hand buried in book and quill and treaties. Arthur hadn't even _asked_ for his dinner that night, hadn't sent Merlin down to the kitchens, which wasn't that rare anymore; Arthur often forgot to eat when he was as busy as he was that night, and Merlin had to be sure to make his way down of his own accord to pick something up for, well, both of them. If Arthur was too busy to send for his food, Merlin would find himself too busy to get back to Gaius in time for dinner, would find himself enjoying his food with Arthur instead.

But that didn't mean he didn't complain about it anyway on his way down to the kitchens and back, and as he came back in through Arthur's door.

"Dinner, sire," Merlin said, voice not that much louder than the noises of his complaints had been.

"Mhm," Arthur murmured, not looking up from his current task.

Merlin rolled his eyes, caught between letting out a sigh of exasperation or one of annoyance. Instead, he sat the food down at the table in the middle of Arthur's room, made his way over to Arthur at his desk.

"That means it's time to eat; come on, you can take ten minutes to eat your dinner before you finish that. You can't make good decisions on an empty stomach," he insisted, waiting for Arthur to look up from him to see the look of teasing and good natured, but stubborn, insistence.

"I'm not hungry," Arthur replied.

Rolling his eyes yet again, Merlin moved his hands to rest on his hips, said, "Yes, you are."

Arthur looked up then, finally, and peered at Merlin from under his lashes, as unimpressed with Merlin as Merlin was with _him_ just then.

"No. I'm not," he said stubbornly, soundly.

"You haven't eaten since this afternoon, and you were training with the knights all evening—you're hungry."

"Merlin, don't you think I know when I'm—"

" _No_."

Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's interruption, threw his hands up in an exasperated manner and stood, leaving his work scattered on the desk as he walked around it and past Merlin to where their dinner was waiting, grumbling to himself about stubborn idiots as he did, and sat down. With a satisfied smile on his face, Merlin chose to _ignore_ his grumblings and followed behind him, their dinner still _hot_ and waiting for them. Merlin had thought it would take a bit more convincing to get Arthur to abandon his work long enough to get some food in him, otherwise he would have cooled it down himself some before entering the room, but, well, the food couldn't be _that_ hot still, he was sure it'd be fine.

Just as he sat down, Arthur was already bringing his spoon up to his mouth, which was **good**. They would eat, they would enjoy their food, and perhaps Merlin would be able to coax a smile or two onto the face that had spent the better part of the night scrunched up in a frown of concentration, and it would be a pleasant meal shared between friends, and—

" _Merlin_!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly, crashing through Merlin's pleasant thoughts and expectations for the evening.

With a frown on his own face then, Merlin looked up from his food, cocked his head curiously as he took in the almost ridiculous sight of Arthur sticking his tongue out for a second, before taking it back into his mouth and shaking his head, face drawn up in something that very much was not a smile, was instead something of pain and irritation.

"What? I didn't _do_ anything!"

"This food—" he said, taking a moment to take in a breath and fan at his mouth. "—is _scalding_. Are you trying to burn my tongue off or something?"

Merlin rolled his eyes for what might as well have been the hundredth time that night before he shrugged, "Sorry, _I_ didn't cook it. I didn't know… or, well, I _thought_ it would have cooled off some by the time you—sorry?" he tired, scrambling to say _something_ to get that look off the king's face. Though he knew _that_ just wasn't about to happen, unfortunately. So he asked, exasperated, "What do you want me to do, Arthur? Kiss it better?"

Honestly, _all_ he'd wanted was for Arthur to find peace in a warm dinner and nice conversation, and the prat was acting like Merlin had intentionally done something to burn his damned tongue. Merlin didn't know _why_ he bothered sometimes…

"That seems like the only fair thing you could do right now."

Merlin looked up from scowling into his own bowl, blinked in surprise at what he couldn't have _possibly_ just heard.

"What—you're serious?"

"Are _you_?" Arthur shot back.

Given the tone Merlin had had about him, he supposed that was a _fair_ question too. He hadn't been, not too terribly, anyway, not in the sense that he'd _actually_ expected Arthur to take him up on that. But if Arthur _wanted_ him to kiss it better…

Without a word, Merlin stood from his chair to take the one next to Arthur instead, making himself comfortable as slowly as he could manage, liking the way Arthur's eyes followed and watched him with anticipation and impatience and curiosity as he did.

Finally, he nodded, leaned close to Arthur to press a careful, chaste kiss to his lips that Arthur didn't respond to at all, much to his dismay, though it was so quick, he supposed he didn't give him a _proper_ chance to react in the moment.

He pulled back with something of a coy grin on his face and said, "Of course I was serious, Arthur."

At last, a small smile stretched across Arthur's face and he reached out to grip Merlin's chin carefully, thoughtfully.

"It _still_ hurts; I think I might need another. And another. And _possibly_ another after that."

"Well, suppose I'd better get to that if we want to finish our dinner any time soon, shouldn't I?" Merlin murmured, leaning back towards Arthur before the king could answer, leaving him with kiss after kiss that spelled out the realization that Merlin would have _no_ trouble getting Arthur to eat his dinner again any time soon.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
